


Through the Fog

by voiceless_terror



Series: Prompt Fills [17]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Lonely is Not Fun, martin to the rescue, prompt, season four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: Jon runs into Peter Lukas. Martin doesn't like that.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Prompt Fills [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921006
Comments: 15
Kudos: 208





	Through the Fog

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "Do that again and you’ll regret it.” Give me some protective jonmartin.

He shouldn’t be up there.

Martin told him to stay away, to stop following him and ‘knowing’ his location. And Jon respected that, truly. 

But it wasn’t _technically_ against the rules to wander on the third floor where Elias’s office _happened_ to be. He wasn’t forbidden from any part of the Institute. Jon had as much a right as anyone to go on walkabout and pass by the door. He shivered, wondering if Martin could sense he was nearby. Was that something he was capable of? The Lonely was tricky, and trying to know Peter Lukas’s plans hadn’t ended well. 

He had to bite down the familiar pang of anxiety that shot through his chest as he came in sight of the door. Jon remembered the times he spent in here, first as a lowly researcher, thinking he was about to get fired and instead getting promoted. And then times that followed- Elias’s frustration with his lack of progress, Jon’s pleas for CO2 during the Prentiss incident, the paranoid searching. Worst, though, were the times when Jon actually got some answers. He remembered bleeding on Elias’s floor after the confrontation with Daisy and being dead on his feet as he defended him from Melanie’s attack. He found that almost preferable to the cold, harsh silence that greeted him today.

And it was getting _colder_. Daisy had stolen him a thick wool cardigan from Basira’s desk that he was wearing now, though it barely protected him from the current chill. It was almost icy, and there was a strange fogginess to the air that clouded his vision. The ache of old injuries intensified, as it always did in the cold. He was supposed to have so much power, and yet he felt annoyingly helpless and vulnerable.

“And what do you think you’re doing, Archivist?” The voice was cheery and bright, but somehow empty.

Peter Lukas.

He turned to find him standing in front of the door, at odds with the austere decoration of the Institute in his weather-beaten coat and worn trousers. Elias’s choice in colleagues had always confounded him and Lukas was no different. Jon wrapped his arms around his torso, a sad attempt at warmth as he struggled to find a response. “I’m- I’m just l-looking-”

Peter scoffed, his expression blasé. “God, you’re a sad little thing. Why did Elias pick you, I wonder?” Jon scowled, the offense enough to muster up some fight within him.

“I-I want to talk to Martin,” he said, attempting authority and failing around chattering teeth. He was never fond of the cold, but this...this he could feel in his bones. “I-I need to...to _speak_ with him-”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Peter theatrically sighed, as if breaking terrible news to a friend. “Why do you think he sent me out here?”

Jon flinched at the words. Would Martin really do that, send Peter Lukas in his stead? Was he so opposed to seeing Jon that he’d throw him to the wolves, or lone wolf, in this case? He wouldn’t- _he wouldn’t-_

“It’s no wonder that girl scratched her eyes out, having to be around you lot day in and day out.” The words were so casually said and yet brutal in their message. Lukas was getting closer, and Jon took a stumbling step back. “And the Detective? She’d rather travel the globe, going on imaginary monster hunts instead of handling the one in her office.” _Monster. Monster. Monster._ The cold was closing in and Jon was trapped against the wall as his vision started to fade. 

It was true. Nothing Peter said was objectively wrong, and the both of them knew it. Jon was alone, as he always had been and always would be. Only wanted as a pawn in someone’s grand plan with no worth otherwise. Give him his lines and he’d follow the script, desperate to deliver. 

“And the hunter? What does she see in you? A friend? No, I don’t think so.” Jon sank to the floor as Peter towered above him, his words taunting. “I think she sees _prey._ An unfinished hunt. Just biding her time, and then-” A snap of his fingers. Jon dimly registered that the man was still talking, but he couldn’t hear him anymore. Just howling winds and then that cold, unbearable nothing. 

He was so _tired._ It was nice to see nothing. Maybe he should stay here, wherever _here_ was, cold and alone and unable to cause any harm. Wouldn’t it be a relief, to be forgotten and ignored instead of pitied and blamed? The hurt was a dull ache but a sharp relief to his usual agony. Yes, it would be nice to stay.

But then there was a warmth. Not much, barely worth mentioning. But it was there, and it was strange.

_“What are you…”_

Was someone touching his arm? No, that wasn’t possible. He was alone. Had always been alone and-

_“...only having some fun, Martin-”_

Martin. That was a good name. Soft, warm and familiar. His mind played a nasty trick, imagining Martin gently holding him, rubbing warmth back into his arms. It was a solid memory, as if it were right in front of him. The fog was dissipating and his thoughts became less muddied. He was...he was _somewhere_ again. But where? A voice cut through the remaining fog.

“Do that again and you’ll regret it.”

Martin. His voice was cold and angry, but it didn’t matter. Martin was _here._ Martin was here and holding him safe and close. He wanted to meet his eyes, wanted to match the voice to the face. But he didn’t, instead burrowing close in the man’s arms.

“Oh, I hope you know what you’re doing.” The disappointed voice that sent him to that desolate place was back and Jon gripped at Martin’s jumper, fighting an urge to cover his ears as the wind picked up and the cold leeched in and-

“Jon, it’s alright. He’s gone, okay? I won’t let him do that again, I promise.” He was rubbing a hand up and down Jon’s back in comfort, a touch he barely remembered but eagerly welcomed. It took a few minutes for the shaking to subside, all the while Martin kept up that soothing murmur. He finally pulled back but only slightly, just enough to meet Martin’s eyes. They were warmer and kinder than they’d been in some time. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem angry. Jon wanted to thank him, beg him to stay at his side but all that comes out is a tiny whisper.

“I-I was alone.” 

Martin paused, considering Jon’s words.

“Now you’re not.”

It was not a promise. Jon knew that. Martin wouldn’t leave his lonely office, but he was still in there, somewhere, with his unknowable plans and fiercely loving heart. Jon saw it in the way he helped him down to the Archives, not saying a word as he deposited him on the couch into Daisy’s waiting hands. Jon tasted it in the tea he made before he returned upstairs, warm and overly-sweet and just the way he liked it. He felt it when he woke up in his cot, curled in a familiar blue jumper. 

Martin wasn’t back, no. But he wasn’t lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Here you go, anon! Hope you liked. I don't normally like to write anything set in season four, but this seemed like a good place to have it. 
> 
> Would love to see your comments! You can find me at voiceless-terror on tumblr for prompts/asks/and general yelling.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
